 And now, stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who is guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain. In the signal oil program, the Whistler. Signal, the famous Go Father gasoline. Invite you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by the Whistler. I'm the Whistler, and I know many things for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. And now for the signal oil company, the Whistler's strange story. Partners in crime. The fog clung in little patches of moving mist to the abrupt sides of San Francisco's telegraphed hill. The bungalow on the side of the hill seemed to clean even more precariously, though it had hung there for years. Below could be seen the twinkling lights across the bay. Inside the hillside house, the strange scene was in progress. A man lay stretched inertly across a couch at the far end of the living room. Elsewhere were the unmistakable evidences of a cocktail party. And through it all a strange ominous silence. It could be sensed outside by the two people standing in the front porch. They looked at each other and gasped in fear. John. Smells like gas escaping. I'll lock again. You don't suppose... Please, John, quickly. We've got to wake him up. Chris! Hey, Chris! Chris! Open the door, Chris! You hear them, don't you, Chris? The muffle shouts, and you can smell the faint, oddly sweet odor of escaping gas, too. You don't know how long you've been lying on the couch. You only know that your muscles won't seem to tune in with your brain and respond. You try again, but it's... Oh, no, you... Chris, you're all right. Come on, Uncle. Hey, you got me out of there. Sure, sure we did. He's all right. Chris, do you... Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm okay, okay. Oh, that was close. Better stay with him a while, Eve. Yes, yes, of course I will. That's a good thing we came back, John. If your wife, Helen, hadn't forgotten their gloves... Yeah, first time it's been a good thing. The way she leaves things... Well, thank goodness she did this time. Well, that's more I can do. Better get back to the car. Helen'll be wondering what's happened. Figure yourself, Chris Boyle. Leave your hands open like this and let the place air out. You can get that door fixed in the morning. Oh, yes, thanks, John. I'm okay now. Good night, John. Explain to Helen why I'm staying here. Sure, sure, I will. Darling, you could have been killed. Yeah. A bad accident, huh? Was it, Chris? Was it an accident? That's the second time in two weeks. The last time it was the brakes on your car. Just coincidence, Eve. And what about your partner, Fred? He was nearly killed twice last month. Chris, I can't believe these things are accidental. Oh, sure they are. They've got to be... I was careless about the brakes on the car, yes. And tonight, well, little too much to drink. Maybe you left the gas jet on the stove. I don't believe it. Well, I'm here anyway. Let's forget it. I can't forget it. You go on home now, honey. Get some sleep. You're upset, that's all. I am, but, Chris, I'm terribly upset. You'll be all right, darling. You sure? Sure, perfectly all right. You don't believe your own words, do you, Chris? Eve's suspicion that it was more than an accident is an opinion you're sure is a fact. And the things that happened to your partner, Freddie Stacey, you know they weren't accident either. The following day, you remain at home, staying completely away from the office, in which you and Freddie operate a literary agency. And that night, your girlfriend, Eve Leland, drops by again. The two of you are having cocktails together. Eve is still apprehensive. You've got to do something about this. Go away, perhaps. Oh, stop it. Don't let your imagination run wildly. It isn't imagination, Chris. All right, all right. So there's a wild man loose in town trying to kill me, huh? Me, Chris Matthews, who does nothing any more precarious than run a literary agency? Something else. Something in the air. Things that have been happening to you. Chris, I'm afraid. Expecting anyone, Chris? No, I wasn't. Better get it. Shall I go? I'll get it. Captain Driscoll? Oh, no, no, no. It can't be. Sorry, Mr. Matthews. You are Chris Matthews, aren't you? Yes, yes, that's right. You, you look like... My brother. I look very much like my brother, Captain Driscoll. Oh. Commit me, sir. I'm Lieutenant Driscoll Canadian Intelligence Service. Oh, I see. Oh, I'm sorry. The shock of resemblance. Uh, come in, won't you? Well, I'm sorry to interrupt you like this, and... Oh, excuse me, miss. Oh, Lieutenant, this is my fiance, Miss Eve Leland. Eve, Lieutenant Driscoll. Miss Leland? How do you do, Lieutenant? Uh, get you a drink, Lieutenant. Scotch, maybe? Perfect. No, your brother and I, the Captain... We were very close friends. I know. Yes, my brother. He was quite a man. He's dead? He was killed, miss. Shot only last year. Who did it? It's still a mystery. Um, your drink, Lieutenant. Oh, thank you. You haven't any idea why your brother was killed? Why, no, Miss Leland. His mission, perhaps, had something to do with it. He was also an intelligent man. And at the time, unfortunately, he was assigned to protect the most valuable item, being sent from France to a Canadian museum. Yes, a royal dagger of some sort, wasn't it, Lieutenant? Yeah, a most valuable one, a jewel encrusted and once owned by Louis XIV. It was worth millions of francs. And it wasn't recovered? No, it wasn't, miss. In fact, the King's dagger is the one clue to my brother's murder. I see. Oh, please, not enough of me and my problem. I only looked you up, Mr. Matthews, because I knew you and my brother were friends. Yes, I'm very glad you came by. I'll tell my partner, Freddie Stacey. He was with me in that little French village when your brother was killed. Oh, yes, you were touring together for your firm, I believe you wrote. Yeah, trying to pick up a few more rare old volumes before all of them are lost to the world. Yeah. Where are you staying, Lieutenant? I'd like to see... Oh, I'm at the cliff, but I'm afraid the length of my stay... At least I know. Who can tell you might have to be here longer. It's been nice to just have seen you, talked to you, and you, miss. I must get along. Oh, no, no, you can have another drink. Sit a while, Lieutenant. Give me at least some news to take with my partner in the morning. Well, if you insist. I do, and I'll get working on a couple more drinks here. A three, darling. Remember me? I'm sorry. Kind of a shock, you know, Lieutenant. You're popping in here looking so much like your brother. Yeah. I know. There's a reason you're not thinking of Eve, isn't it, Chris? Yes. And the conversation for the remainder of the evening holds little of your attention. So you're glad when they both leave. Next morning at the office, when you walk in on your partner, Freddie, and confront him with a new leaf. Well, Freddie, last night, our past came calling. Huh? Captain Driscoll's brother. Looking so much like him, I almost thought I was seeing a ghost. What did he want? What are you doing here? He claims it's official business. I hope it has nothing to do with the King's dagger. We've got to get rid of it as soon as it arrives. We've waited long enough. I wonder if we can ever wait long enough. Well, your idea of laying low... It wasn't as much your idea. Well, arguing isn't going to get us anywhere, Freddie. You don't seem to be worried. What is it, Chris? You're a niving brain of yours. Some way of making me the fall guy? Blood pressure, Freddie. You're always too excitable. And with good reason, having you as a partner, a partner in crime, partner in murder. Remember that, Freddie Boy. It keeps us close. Close. And where are we? Where are we is right. We haven't even got that little diamond-studded weapon in opposition. You know it's arriving in a few days. If we can trust your sailor friend Higgins. I told you we can. I told you it doesn't tie in. Look where it's leading us. Feeling this way. Hating each other so that we... What do you mean by that? I mean the two accidents I've had this week. Well, I've had two myself. What are you implying that I... That I'd best get rid of you before you get rid of me, friend. Nonsense. Talk like a fool. Do I? Do I really? You know, I've had a terribly strong hunch about something. A hunch that one of us, one or the other, will be quite dead when Higgins shipples into San Francisco Harbor. Don't say that. I can't help it, Freddie. It's on my mind. The thought that one of us will be dead. I wonder which one. Don't you, Freddie? Will your car pick up? Pick up? Just try a tank full of signal, Eiffel and C. How easily will your car climb a hill? Climb a hill? Just try a tank full of signal, Eiffel and C. You'll see the pepiest, most thrilling performance your car is capable of. After all, signal Eiffel, the premium grade of signals famous go farther gasoline, is a true super fuel engineered to bring out the best in any car of any age, engineered to put real get up and go under your toe, engineered to float you smoothly and high over hills that make other cars complain and shift, the kind of driving that's really fun. So, just for fun, why not preach your car to a tank full of signal Eiffel and C. C for yourself. You weren't toying with your partner, Freddie, were you, Chris? When you made your grim observation that one or the other of you would be dead. No, you believe it, because you think now that that's the only way it can be. You no longer trust one another. You watch each other like a pair of sentries, the least expected moment the other will strike. That's the way it is for the next few days after you talk with Freddie about the brother of the man you two murdered. You decide your partner must die soon and you must take over the Louis XIV dagger yourself. Dispose of it as quickly and as quietly as possible. That's why you keep in constant contact with the steamship office. Call them again when you notice in the papers that Higgins ship is listed as a trade arrival. Hello. Hello. I'd like to get some shipping information, please. What information do you wish, sir? There's a ship, the Algonquin, due in tomorrow. It's listed as delayed in today's paper and I wonder if you... One moment, sir, I'm checking. Thanks. As you hang up and leave the bungalow an idea suddenly occurs to you, doesn't it, Chris? Yes. And as you drive downtown a plan begins to take shape in your mind. Before going to the office stop and send a wire to seaman Al Higgins. Care of his ship in San Pedro asking him to phone you. Just before lunch. You're at your desk when the phone rings. Hello. That you, Mr. Matthews? Yes. Alfie Higgins here, Governor. What's wrong? Oh, Higgins. Nothing's wrong, nothing at all. Well, now that's a relief to hear, that is. How did everything go? Smooth. Good. I hope this here delay isn't going to cause you any hardship, Governor. As a matter of fact, it does make things sort of awkward. Well, there's a chance we'll be shoving off like tonight or first thing in the morning. I'm afraid that's no good, Higgins. Now, you'd better wait for me there. I'll leave right away and meet you in San Pedro tonight. You won't mind that, will you? Well, I find you. You just ask for Alfie Higgins. Let's fix a time and a place. Now, wait, I've got a better idea. A friend of mine has a beach house in Redondo. Why don't we meet there? Nice and quiet, we won't be disturbed. Whatever you say, Governor. The address is 81374 Coast Road. No, 81374. You'd better write it down. I'll write it down. I should be there around midnight. 10,000. You'll get what's coming to you, Higgins. Don't worry. I'd like to see you at this time of day. I'm leaving town, Eve. What? Now, wait, I don't mean for good. Just a short vacation. Don't scare me like that, darling. Just that I have to get away for a few days. But it take your advice and sort of get hold of myself. Got nerves, you know, that are there at the bungalow the other night. Well, it's sort of catching up to me. Of course, darling, I understand. And I was wondering, Eve, the house of yours and Redondo, that's still for rent, isn't it? Chris, that would be a wonderful place for you. It's so quiet and peaceful. The ocean at your front door. Well, we could drive down there tonight. Well, if you don't mind, Eve, I'd rather be alone for the first few days. You understand? I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you. When are you leaving? Right away. My stuff's packed All right, I'll get the house key for you. Oh, thanks. Oh, and, Eve, I'd rather you told no one where I am. Not at first, anyway. Well, I'm thinking about Freddie. You know how he worries about the firm. Something would come up at the office. He'd be on the phone pestering me. I just don't want to be bothered. All right, darling. I won't tell a soul. It's regrettable, isn't it, Chris, having to give up a girl like Eve. You've made it in with your plans, does she? You've made up your mind, know exactly what you're going to do. Once you take care of Albie Hickins, you'll drive on into Mexico with the King's Dagger, contact the interested buyers from there. After you've received your money, you could drop out of sight, and neither Freddie nor Eve will ever find you. You make excellent time on the road between San Francisco and Los Angeles, arriving at Redondo Beach an hour and a half ahead of schedule. You're eager to get it over with, aren't you, Chris? So you drive on to San Pedro on the chance that Hickins is still aboard his ship. Hello, you up there. I'm looking for Albie Hickins. Is he aboard? You've missed him, Chris, and that means you'll have to go back to Redondo and wait for him. You walk back to your car, and as you get in, you sense a sudden movement behind you, and then the cold, unmistakable feel of a gun on the back of your head. Hello, Chris. Freddie? You see, I took the trouble to call the steamship line, too. And when you didn't come back with the office this afternoon, I got a hunch you'd be headed this way. Look, Freddie, can't we talk this way? Sorry, no deal. This, as they so often say, is the end of the line for you, old man. Start the car. Your heart is pounding in your throat as you drive along the dark, deserted streets of the waterfront district. When you mount, doesn't it, Chris? Your mind spinning furiously, desperately seeking a way to outwit Freddie. All right, Chris, stop here. Freddie, wait a minute. Move. Go on. Straight ahead out there in the dark. And keep in the shadow. How'd you have it, Chris? In the back of the head? Just like you gave it to Captain Driscoll? Freddie, listen to me. Listen, you can have the dagger, my share of the money. If I let you live. I'll leave that to you, too. Oh, there'd be too many complications, too many papers to sign. You might change your mind. No, I swear I won't. It's much simpler this way, old man. A well-placed bullet and our partnership is dissolved. All right, Miss Parner, turn around. All right. You lunge with a suddenness that takes Freddie completely by surprise. Then your fist catches him full on the jaw. The stagger's back, crashes into some empty crates. In an instant, you're on him. All right, Freddie. I've got the gun now. So you... So you have, old man. So you have. Now get up, Chris, old man. Don't move. I don't suppose you'd be interested in little proposition. No, I... Don't suppose you would be. You don't have much time, Freddie. As soon as that freight train is close enough to cover the sound of the shot, you're going to get the bullet you promised me. Me. Me. It's all over quickly, isn't it, Chris? You stand there as the train rumbles past, staring at the lifeless body of your partner. Then you slip the gun into your pocket and hurry to your car. A half an hour later, you're at the beach house in Redondo. It's only a few minutes after 12, but you're pacing the floor nervously, occasionally stopping to glance out the window. Higgins is late, isn't he? And as the minutes drag by, you begin to wonder if something has happened to him. Then finally, you hear a car pull up outside. As you hurry to the door, your hand slips around the gun in your pocket. Evening, Governor. Well, Higgins, I've been waiting for you. Come in. What's the idea of the gun? Oh, I'll explain it all to you. Inside, Mr. Higgins. Gasoline or a quart of oil, or any of the numerous other services and conveniences for which you rely on service stations. Have you ever wondered what you would do if service stations were few and far between, or if they operated limited hours like banks? Fortunately, however, you don't have to worry about this because there are 200,000 service stations throughout the states to deliver the 40 billion gallons of gasoline Americans now use per year. And 15,000 independent oil marketing companies working in free competition are constantly striving to furnish ever finer petroleum products at lower prices. As a result of this free competition, although prices of so many things have skyrocketed, gasoline itself today costs no more than it did 25 years ago. Only gasoline taxes are higher. But the quality of today's gasoline is so much better, two gallons now go as far as three used to. I tell you these facts because throughout America this week is officially known as Oil Progress Week. But when you consider that U.S. oil companies spend over $100 million on research each year and oil scientists have created more than 8,000 new inventions in the last five years, it would be much more accurate to say every week in free America is Oil Progress Week. Your plan has met with great success, hasn't it, Chris? Yes. Things have turned out much better than you believe possible. Your partner, Freddie Stacey, is out of the way for good. And now all you have to do is get the king's jewel dagger from Higgins, rid yourself of him as you did Freddie, and then go to Mexico. Once you're safely across the border, you're certain that you can complete the sale of your rare and highly valuable merchandise. With Freddie dead, you can then return to the United States, enjoy your new wealth with Eve. $100,000. A lot of money, isn't it, Chris? The ancient item will bring that to you now. $100,000. All yours. All right, Higgins, suppose we start with the dagger. Hand it over. I ain't got it. What? I ain't got it. Oh, you're lying. Hold still. Here now. Parfumo. What's this? You give me that, that's mine. An envelope. Money. Lots of money. Would you get this, Higgins? Mr. Freddie, I'll give him that blasted dagger or whatever it was. You what? That's right. I run into him just as I was leaving the ship tonight. I told him I was expecting you, but he said you couldn't make it. You gave Freddie the dagger. Well, I got to thinking about it after I left him that perhaps he was double-crossing you, so I decided to come out here and see if you were waiting. What time? They haven't found the body yet. There's a chance I can get it. Body? Yes, Higgins. I killed Freddie with his own gun. Now, I'm going to have to kill you with it, too. Nah, look here. Well, here's 10,000 of yours, Higgins, in case the police have already found Freddie's body in the dagger. Now, move. Move, I said. We're going to take a nice, quiet little walk along the beach. Drop it! That's better. Lord, love a duck. This is one time old Alfie Higgins is happy to see the law. This bloke was going to kill me. That's the way it looked to us. How'd you, gents, happen to get here? Man named Fred Stacey was shot to death over in San Pedro tonight. When we searched his body, we found this jewel dagger all wrapped up in this paper. Just plain wrapping paper. But there's an address scribble on it. 81374 Coast Road. That's this place right here. Higgins, did you? That's right. I wrote the address down. Just like me, you asked me to. Remember, Governor? You insisted upon it, and... Blimey. Alfie Higgins obliged. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program The Whistler each Sunday night at the same time. Meantime, signal oil company and the friendly independent dealers who help you go farther with signal gasoline hope you'll remember. Regardless of what gasoline you use, you'll enjoy more miles of happy driving if you drive at sensible speeds, obey traffic regulations, and avoid taking chances. You may even save a life. Possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman as The Whistler, Larry Dobkin, Michael Ann Barrett, Ted Osborne, Ben Wright, and Herbert Lytton. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Adrian John Doe, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler is entirely fictional, and all characters portrayed on The Whistler are also fictional. Any similarity of names or resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember to tune in at the same time next Sunday when the signal oil company will bring you another strange story by the Whistler entitled Alias Mr. Alden, a story of intrigue and excitement set against the fabulous background of Singapore. This is Marvin Miller speaking for The Signal Oil Company. Stay tuned now for our Miss Brooke starring Eve Arden, who goes immediately over most of these stations. This is the CBS Radio Network.